


fever dream

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: junk food for a dashing youth.





	fever dream

he doesn't remember the last time he wore a skirt to school. it was probably the first day of kindergarten.

a decade ago on his very first day at his very first school. and he's grown out of it, since, grown into dark jeans and layered tops, the strangle of masculinity.

but he's sitting in class now, freshman year at this so prestigious academy he'd been accepted to by pure fortune alone. he's sitting in class, and chill december is teasing the little bitty hairs from ankles to low thighs. the room's all dark wood, light fresh from the windows he can hardly recall, and he's flush in his seat beside one of them. he fingers idly the pleats of the miniskirt, curve to brows a furrow in  _ick._ there's hardly anything he can do about it, finds himself choking hot behind the sweet little bow at his white collared top.

he doesn't know why he chose this outfit (or how he even owns it- had he sleepwalked to maizono's room again?) this morning, yet struggles in the grasp toward a memory of it at all. but no one seems to think it a peculiarity in their encounters with him; maizono chatters a long cheery moment, standing before his desk in her own ensemble of ruffles and bows.  _good morning, naegi-kun!_ fujisaki beams toward him en route to the seat behind him. he rests to a face forward, eyes focusing on the sweet lavender of his adoration. kirigiri sits straight backed and tight lipped in the spot just ahead of his. a sweat clasps its hand with his own, reaches out in the stretch of a smile to catch her attention.

the hand drops next to his side in a slap of obedience to the sharp step of authority through the classroom door. vaguely, he ruins himself in the thought that he'll be punished for his attire, though all the same hopes just as so; he'd rather be admonished for dressing out of gender than being perceived as correct.

but the teacher says nothing, and naegi can guess she'd have trouble trying- what, with the comically huge mascot head tucked over truth. she's her same lithe form and legs stuck from pencil skirt, though from the shoulders up takes on the face of a two toned bear at a loss for one eye.  _strange_ , he thinks it, though perhaps he missed a memo about faculty spirit week, something or other. the lesson begins as normal, chalk drooling dust behind every letter. simultaneously, sixteen notebooks open and sixteen pens scrawl in a rush to copy it. normal class. normal morning. not one mention of his uniform. it's nearly a disappointment, but he decides to decide to stop at his room after this block and swap out for real comfort.

within his thoughts, he loses his place in his notes a moment too long; when he again glances up to steal the last few lines of information, the eraser's clapping bites out of it whole. he peers in wide-eyed anguish at the emptied blackboard.

his bedhead shakes in resolution. ikusaba is always willing to share her notes with him when he sits in a fog too long, a large portion of why he likes her as a desk neighbor. she can be...a  _character,_ but all the same a diligent worker and almost amiable once she allows that outer shell to melt off.

he's already revved up his  _psst_ as he turns to his right, chokes on it once his eyes settle. he doesn't remember who's supposed to be seated beside him, but he's certain, rather, that it isn't togami byakuya in all his tall blonde sophisticated regal aristocratic hotness. togami would not ever choose willingly a seat in the middle of the class, surrounded by a dozen breathing, squirming, germing adolescents. naegi figures the change of his usual spot comes with the riddance of his shoulder mite. sitting in the far corner of the back row means no space for fukawa touko to choose the seat behind him and breathe down his neck the whole eighty minutes. but...but naegi does not sit in the back corner, or the back at all, and he could swear on his soul that he'd traded greetings with fujisaki and kuwata on their treks behind him.

he tears himself away from that mindless staring to the right to pop his mouth askew in trembles; he's just able to catch the last smudges of words as the eraser swallows them another time. his shoulders melt to a sag.

aside his pen scribble mind, the teacher begins to lecture in the muffle of her mask. hazel eyes boggle at the movement of fifteen other pencils as her scribes into composition books. fresh sweat leaks hot down his temple. a hundred million yen could be dangled in front of his teeth right now for the offer to translate what is being said to him, and  _maybe_  he'd be able to snatch a few banknotes in his silent snap of jaw. but there is no such deal, just he himself alone in a room of scrawling graphite and twenty/twenty hearing. after a break in her motormouth, each student opens their maths textbooks to whatever page she'd told them, hushing the room to a buzzing silence whilst they leer on at the words.

"uh, togami?" dares he at last. it's a whisper, come forth after a bucket poured over his head of hesitation. he thieves from the air a calming breath when his handsome glare pins him. "can i...copy your notes? i kinda,  _heh,_ spaced out."

those long lashes pad his cheekbones once twice, and the fist rested beneath his jaw drops to lift his notebook and offer it outward. naegi smiles to a beat of breath out the nose, reaching in gratitude for it. easier than he thought- he hadn't thought togami would be ever so generous, hadn't thought togami would bid him so sans any a quip to his foolery, hadn't thought togami's pristine fingers would unlatch from the book and drop it in a heavy  _whap_ to the tile, though everyone is entitled to their own mistakes. naegi flinches at the sound, biting too late his laugh drawn from instinctive unease.

"ah, sorry," is another instinct, and he leans to retrieve it in whole benevolence. he sits upright again, nodding gratefully toward the other and beginning a scan of eyes over the faultless manuscript. the hand that births that perfection obscures his line of sight in a smack of it down to again kiss the floor.

"whoops," and he does not think he ever once has heard togami utter such a defeat. "i've dropped my notebook. allow me to get it."

naegi blinks thickly, fingers curled to the air alone now. the chair at the parallel desk slides outward, and togami byakuya in all his tall blonde sophisticated regal aristocratic hotness crawls to all fours to reach the fallen book between naegi's mary janes. the thought strikes him that not a single other has turned their attention to him, toward all the cacophony caused in this prayed simple exchange, but rather his mind chews on the pen cap of fret. at such an angle, togami will so surely see the sway of pleated cotton, those cutesy shoes he's just mentioned so. and togami will so surely lash at his back with taunt after taunt after hot stinging taunt. his eyes pinch closed in apprehension, barely daring a quiver until he's rightways and off the filth of the floor.

instead, the chill of touch teases his thigh. he startles on another instinct, legs spreading to his beckoning fingers without the slightest bit of meaning. and all togami's to say- "mm, no panties today, makoto?"

" _t-t-togami?!"_ the stuttery blushery mess of a man he's shoved to is humiliating, though he thinks truly that he cannot face more than what's come through the last ten seconds. he glances down his torso to the grandee below his desk, knelt so sweetly and lips wasting no time to hum kisses up his thighs. naegi's own mouth wiggles into a tremble, face burnt scarlet and looking about frantically. fourteen pairs of pupils stare acquiescently to their textbooks. he gawks at their lack of acknowledgement, taken only so stunned until sensation stirs his insides.

the hem of his skirt's been folded upward to his lap, brazenness now kissing the heat at his thigh's center. incisors leave indents in his bottom lip; without a second of wasted potential, togami takes to licking him slow and wet up the center. naegi gasps in a grip to his desk's lip.

he cannot believe, cannot believe, cannot believe- cannot- cannot-  _fuck!_ he could just  _scream! scream_ in the wild thump of his rapid, rapid, rapid brain. he cannot believe, cannot fathom, how not one flick of curiosity has yet met him, nor will he ever once find veracity in the feel of that warm delight on him.

he cannot for one single moment believe that the most handsome guy in the whole grade is eating him out in the middle of algebra.

but it's... _happening,_ and-  _oh, lord,_ is it ever happening. togami's tongue drags slow up his sex, which finds relax in the next several laps once they switch to a kitten's short fast tastes at a saucer. he feels the wetness drip down him, drool and precum and all sorts of fluids he never knew felt so blissful when met. he writhes, and suddenly is all too thankful for that still strange swap of his position to the back corner when he tips his head and throws it back in a whiplash forward. still his fingers grip the wood of the tabletop. plush lips part round an involuntary  _mmh- oh-!_ at the sweet swirl about his clit.

"naegi-san," dropkicks his arousal. frenzy presses his gaze forward to the board. his teacher's standing stiff with a hand to her hip, head still enormous and round and ursus-esque, though her voice now flows crisp. "no talking during classtime. open up your maths book to page fifteen and read  _quietly._ "

he shivers in the heat of her censure, in the heat of the kisses dotting his dripping pussy that he still cannot believ- but, but he nods, regardless, grasps the front cover to the heavy book and presses it to the correct page. and  _who,_ exactly, does he attempt a sick wit at in trying at all to focus? font swims through his pupils thirty times the same without him at all knowing what mr. times new roman has to say to him. togami's lips and tongue work him to a dent in the skull, soaking the spot in the chair below his ass to a gleam. togami's lips and tongue drive him  _wild,_ and he's left in knee-quaking gaga when two fingers enter him slick.

they pump in melody to his mewls. a puff splits his lips to pant, and another lick to his  _throb, throb, throb_ forces a moan to chase it.

"naegi-san!" stuffs the next one back down his trachea. "page fifteen! no talking!"

"y-yes, ma'am," he promises, a breathy  _h-h-h_ stressed and repeating. his pussy drips needy between his thighs.

togami takes to catering to the need, always will always does do did. his tongue- has he mentioned his tongue yet? -it's fucking  _magic_ in its licks and swirls. he sucks idle at his hard, pleading clit. naegi gnaws chap to his lip in a beg of his own silence. he'd bid his sudden suitor a leave could he risk the vocality. there really is no option but to endure that rude mouth all over him, sucking and kissing, and those terrible fingers in their stuffing of him. they pull out to massage soft, depart in mild dampness to grip his shins alongside a mirror to the second. palms rub slow up his bare legs, leaving his lips and tongue on sole duty of his pleasure. togami's eyes are closed behind the fog of his lenses, face warmed much too handsomely beneath them. his expression reads he'd sooner break a vein than leave his station, more so do those awful awful moans vibrating up his soaking, throbbing sex. naegi pushes forward in mindless crave.

it goes  _adored_ , by evidence, more moans battling back the smother, and naegi has to find it an injustice that he's allowed to make such a discordance without the bat of a lash elsewhere. he stares with hazels drunken at page fifteen, page fifteen, hips wriggling messy and face hot as the tongue squirming inside him. togami meets a tender touch of impatience himself, thighs sundered farther in the desperate grasp of relieving the pressure betwixt them. naegi imagines the tent pressing his neat slacks, imagines the absence of those slacks and whatever else lay beneath, the hard length of a dripping cock in his hands, in his mouth, in just the spot where he leaks and pleads now, and he decides he must play role of a delinquent this morning.

his forehead reads more of page fifteen than his eyes ever tried when he hunches forward in a spasm, muscles all clenching and toes all curling in his lacy socks. togami does not relent his ravenous laps all the while his angel latches onto climax, licks licks licks the flow of cum that delights his mouth. and while his mouth so takes the divinity of this, his ears accept moan after moan, loud and endless,  _mmn, oh, togami-! ah- mm, ha-ah! t-togami-!_ and naegi thinks himself a fool for fitting such the cookie cutter coquette, but after all cannot get any more mortified than, uh, uh, uh, however he'd worded it before, not that it matters now, not than anything matters now but his quivering shivering mad mad love and sweet release into the perfectly devilish mouth of the hottest guy he's ever dared a glance at.

the orgasm melts to completion in his slouch forward, sweating a mess into whoever's uniform this is, lungs grappling to regulate. and he realizes his existence's existence in a frenzied flush, neck snapping upward to his instructor's assured backlash. his shoulders clench tight in taking her in. still he cannot see her face, though rather than be drowned by the mascot head, he finds himself staring at the dull black of another mask, grin etched wide and eyes wider still. this is strange as well, he thinks, swallows, thinks too that he'd prefer the bear for eternity over the sharp judgement of this new character. it is more than anything unsettling, that smile and same symbol over the forehead. and in the length of her fingers- naegi blinks in butterfly tempo. is that-? is that a kni-


End file.
